5 Stages of Grief
by Under0The0Sea
Summary: Amelie goes through the five stages of grief after Sam's death.
1. Denial

_Hi it's always really nerve-wracking posting to a new fandom. Bu I love Morganville Vampires and my muse decided that this absolutely had to be written. And now it's written it may as well be posted. I just hope you like it. _

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Denial

This can't be happening. My expression is frozen into a wide-eyed look of absolute horror but my mind is calm. Deadly calm. Too calm, I suppose, to be truly appropriate for the situation but in truth there is nothing to worry about. Because even though what is taking place in front of me is of my own design, this _can't be happening_.

Even when I see the lethal flash of sharp white, even as I watch my father sink his fangs into Sam's neck, even as I watch those determined china blue eyes drift further and further away from this world, I _know _it can't be happening. I am aware that someone is screaming and then I become aware that it is me. Silly, really, because there is nothing wrong. There _can't _be.

This is all so surreal; a dream perhaps, although I have not had a dream in many hundreds of years. A hallucination then. I do recall taking poison so maybe hallucinations are one of the side effects for a vampire.

Sam took the poison as well and will need the antidote soon. He is too young to survive with the poison in his system for long. Why is Oliver standing so still? I had given him very clear instructions where Sam was concerned, made certain to give him no room for misunderstanding, error or for deliberate misinterpretation which is something I definitely would not put past Oliver despite the way our fragile ties and sense of 'fraternity' had been strengthened by the unexpected return of my father.

So what was he waiting for? If Sam dies because of Oliver's foolishness then my fury will be limitless and endless. I shift slightly in my bonds trying to signal to Oliver that now is time for action. But he stands as still as the block of ice that I pretend to all but Sam that I am.

Bishop, the man I am cursed to call my father, finishes draining Sam and, with a swift malicious glance at me, drops Sam's body to the floor. Little Claire runs towards my father and I admire her bravery. Of course they say that bravery is really just a synonym for stupidity and I dearly hope that Claire's stupidity will not lead her to untimely end. Claire is a sweet girl and I have no idea where I would find a new apprentice for Myrnin.

My father stumbles, which confuses me before I remember the poison Sam had taken at my command. The poison had been the first of the end game moves in this twisted game of sacrifices and strategy. I begin to worry that Sam isn't moving - surely he should be getting up now? The poison must be making him weak. I feel helpless, something I am not accustomed to feeling. Oliver really must administer the antidote soon or Sam will die. And Sam Glass _cannot _die.

Bishop is bleeding and I watch, almost hypnotised by the scarlet blood that causes a surge of delicious satisfaction; he truly deserves to be hurt, to begin to feel the pain that he has sought to bring to others. He deserves a world of endless agony for hurting Sam and from preventing me from giving the antidote to Sam myself since Oliver is being so foolish.

As Bishop stumbles again I see the book, _my _book, and scream for someone to get it. I watch as little Claire complies. That book is important to me. My father will no longer have any hold over this town and so in truth it doesn't matter whether he has the book or not, but I would prefer the book not to get blood on it.

Oliver finally decides to move. He snaps my chains and I snarl at him to let him know that I furious with him for so endangering Sam's life by refusing to act before now and then I am by Sam's side.

He looks…wrong.

Bishop drained him. _Drained _him. A vampire as young as Sam wouldn't survive that.

A dull sense of panic begins to set in. This isn't happening.

Sam's eyes are far away but as I stare into them they focus on me. He looks weak.

I told him to drink the poison so that if Bishop chose to drain him, Bishop would become weaker. Weak enough to kill. I knew the risks. I knew that whoever he chose, would die. There was no getting around that. I had to cover all the angles.

Bishop had chosen Sam.

Hysteria made my chest feel tight. This _isn't _happening.

I wanted to scream it out. I wanted to yell, for everyone to hear that this wasn't real. This wasn't happening. Sam Glass could not be dying.

Instead I finally spoke the words I should have spoken to him everyday since I had selfishly turned him. I told him he was right. I told him I loved him.

He smiled and his eyes closed and that was all wrong.

Sam Glass couldn't be dead.

_This isn't happening. _

_Reviews would be great – if there's anything I can improve on let me know. _

_Thanks for reading. I hope you like it. _


	2. Anger

Anger

He isn't dead. I'd gone to his funeral, I'd _spoken _at his funeral. But Sam isn't dead because if Sam was dead everything would stop. The world couldn't carry on without Sam in it. And the world had carried on. The tottering pile of papers on my desk, each demanding my attention was proof of that. And so logic inferred that Sam couldn't be dead. He _couldn't _be.

But if he isn't dead then where is he?

A knock at the door. I slowly capped my pen, put it down precisely on the smooth, polished surface of my desk and bid the person to enter. I watched as the door opened and as I stared at the figure in the doorway my heart leapt with dizzying delight. Sam! He had come to prove that they were wrong, they were all wrong, that he was alive -

The figure moves into the room and I realise with a terrible crushing disappointment that it is I who is wrong. It is not Sam; it is Michael. My cold numb heart aches at the sight of Michael, Michael who is nothing but a flawed imitation of Sam; different but similar enough for me to see Sam in the way he moves, the way he speaks, his mannerisms. He has Sam's eyes although Sam's eyes were never unsure. Michael's are now.

The sight of Michael in my office angers me. Why should Michael be graced with life when Sam is gone? Sam deserved life. What right did Michael have to life? What right did Michael have to come here with his demands? Can he not see that I am busy?

"Amelie?" he murmurs respectfully. His voice is wrong. I am expecting Sam's voice. I am struck with the unfairness of the world. I wanted Sam here with me, not Michael.

"Amelie?" Michael asks again, unsure this time. He senses my hostility, sees it perhaps in the way my hands are clenched together tightly on the desk top. Am I snarling at him? It is a near thing. I so want to end his life, to rid myself of this painful reminder of Sam. Only Sam is stopping me. Sam loves Michael and somehow I don't think he would be very forgiving if I murdered his grandson.

But Sam is gone. I was at the funeral. It no longer matters what I do.

"Leave." I snarl at Michael. I sense that my eyes have turned the colour of blood. How I longed to spill Michael's blood. How dare he look so like Sam? How dare he come here and taunt me, giving me warped glimpses of the only person I truly care about. Michael stares at me in confusion and indecision for a split second too long and I am rising from my chair.

"Leave me" some rational part of my brain forces me to snarl. After effectively murdering Sam it would be wrong to murder Michael. Sam would be furious. I stare at the knots in the wooden surface of my desk, forcing my eyes to trace the imperfections. I try to compel myself to calm down. Sam would have been able to calm me. But Sam left me. Left me alone, something he promised not to do.

I look up; Michael is gone and the door is closed. I scream. Fury has replaced the blood in my veins.

"You promised you'd never leave me!" I shriek at Sam. He can't hear me and that angers me more. He should be able to hear me. He should be here.

My body tense and coiled from the surge of anger that has captivated me and I feel the sudden urge to move. I begin to pace, faster than I would ever move around humans. How could he leave me? How could he break his promise?

I am loosing control but that only fuels my anger. I never lose control, not as badly as this. How can Sam still have power over me, when _he _is dead and gone and I am alive.

"I hate you Sam." I whisper venomously, "I hate you for doing this to me." for a second I mean it. For a second I believe that I am speaking the truth. And suddenly I collapse into my chair and the anger instantly is directed, not at Sam but inwards. At myself.

I had just told Samuel that I hated him.

What was I thinking?

Was it not enough that I had essentially murdered him. It was _I _who had forced him to drink the poison. _My _father whom we had been trying to stop. It was _I _who was unable to kill my father the first time. How could I blame this on Sam? And what had possessed me to tell him I hated him? He couldn't hear me but that didn't make a difference at all.

I didn't hate him, could never hate him. It was blasphemous to say as much. Rage at my despicable actions makes me sweep the pile of papers aside. I watch in bitter and unsatisfied fury as the papers fly through the air and fall slowly, too slowly, onto the carpet.

It was Michael's fault. Michael who had thrown me so off guard. Michael who looked too much like Sam. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Should have killed Oliver for letting Sam be murdered in front of me. Should have killed my father for destroying the one person in this world I truly loved. I wanted them dead. They didn't deserve life. If Sam couldn't live then neither should they. If Sam couldn't live then no one should. They, and the world, should burn in atonement for Sam's death.

I scream again. I let my head fall onto my arms and I begin to cry burning tears of fury at the world that had let Sam Glass die.

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_I don't like this one as much. Amelie's still a bit all over the place which I know isn't very like her, but anger and grief will do that to a person. _

_Reviews/feedback as to how I can improve would be fantastic. _

_Thank you for reading. _


	3. Bargaining

Bargaining

I lie still and unmoving on my chaise lounge; a sculpture of ice. The only movement in the room are the tears that run slowly down my cheeks.

_Please_, I beg silently, _please. Sam didn't deserve to die. Please I don't care what I have to do. I'll do anything. Just please bring him back. Please._

My silent pleas are to a higher power. I am religious, although many don't expect me to be. But in this instance I don't care if it is God or Allah or even Satan that hears my pleas. I just want my wish granted. I want Sam.

_He is the best, the kindest, the most compassionate person I have ever known and Morganville was improving because of him. _

This was for the benefit of any benevolent deity that may be listening and who would find information such as Sam's flawless character important and relevant. After all if Satan chose to grant my request I could not complain but I would prefer not to become any more damned than I probably already am.

_Please. Please. Please._

I continued with my silent mantra although I knew there was no hope, no chance that my pleas would amount to anything. People didn't return from the dead. Vampires, who weren't even alive to begin with and were, according to much of the popular culture, soulless demons had even less of a chance. We drank blood after all and so most would regard the death of a vampire as an event to celebrate. And Sam was, to most, just another vampire.

Besides I have killed people, many people, and can consequently see no reason why any request of mine, let alone one this big, should be granted. But I continue to beg and plead because what else could I do? I can't be without Sam. I, Amelie, am lost without him. So lost.

_I will do anything. _Anything_. I will hand control of Morganville over to _Oliver _if that's what it takes. _

The tears pick up speed and I feel myself shaking. I still cannot believe that he is gone. I cannot accept it. He has to come back and I will find a way to achieve this if it takes the rest of my immortal life. It is what Sam would do for me. Sam would have found a way by now and we would be together again.

He was better than me. He has _always _been better than me.

_Please? _

The tears are drying up, although I think this is more because I no longer have any moisture in my body; the pain that constricts my heart is still there. It's always there. It will not leave me until Sam returns. Only he can put a stop to this. Only he can end my suffering, although Myrnin and -curiously- Oliver, tried.

Myrnin.

I realise, as I lie wreathed in my own misery, that I don't have to plead with a deity, only a very old friend.

I rise and open a portal. Having a purpose has dulled the pain a little, but not by much. I still feel it with every nonexistent beat of my shattered heart. I still feel it with every pointless breath. I want an end to this. I want Sam.

My last hope won't face me. He knows I am here, I can tell by the way his hands, which were fluttering over some machine, have frozen. Besides he can sense me. We both know that. But he will not look at me. I am not perturbed - I have to try. Myrnin has to try. Has to understand.

"Myrnin I will give you permission to leave Morganville, for good if you should so choose. I will give you anything you desire if you-"

"I can't." he interrupts with a voice is full of sadness. He doesn't turn, doesn't move.

"Myrnin" I begin the desperation evident in my voice. "You do not know what -" he turns slowly and I shocked into silence by the intensity with which he is looking at me.

"I can't bring back Sam." he says quietly.

"You haven't tried." I point out desperately, "If anyone can-"

"I can't" he repeats and there is pity in his eyes. Such pity. I can feel tears burning in my eyes. I blink them away.

"You brought back Ada."

"I tried. I _tried _to bring back Ada but putting her into a machine was all I could do. And she's not the same, she's never been the same. You wouldn't want that for Sam, Sam wouldn't want that. I tried Amelie, I did try, but I couldn't. I can't."

"You obviously weren't trying hard enough!" I scream at him although I know this is unfair. Myrnin loved Ada. Maybe even as much as I love Sam. The tears are now threatening to spill down my cheeks. I can feel myself trembling; Myrnin had been my final hope.

He walks over to me, slowly, so slowly, seeming almost wary. Perhaps he had heard about the despicable way in which I had treated Michael. Perhaps he now thought me unbalanced. Perhaps he really doesn't want to have to speak the words I know are coming. He places a hand gently onto my shoulder and looks deep into my eyes with sympathy and regret.

"I'm sorry Amelie but I can't help you. Sam's gone. For good."

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_Hope you enjoyed it. _

_Thanks for reading. _


	4. Depression

_For vicky199416 - I will now get on with reviewing all your stories which i have been neglecting while I have had exams and no computer._

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Depression

I can't change it.

It's my fault and now I can't change it.

Has the world always looked this grey? Has it always been so lonely, so cold? Has existence always been so pointless?

When I was young I never thought it would be possible to miss someone this much. Never understood or cared to understand love. Those fifty years without Sam had shown me differently – had shown me the incredible joys of love. It also taught me how sharp the pain of being without someone you truly care about can be. How I wish I hadn't ostracised Sam; how I wish I had spent each precious second with him. I should have known that what we had was too good to last; Sam was – is – too perfect for me. And it is too late to wish now; he is gone and I am left with only regret and misery.

Those fifty years pale in comparison to what I now had to live with. It is, at the risk of sounding clichéd and over-dramatic, absolute hell.

Hell. Perhaps it is. It is no less than I deserve and I cannot imagine a hell more complete than this.

Eve called me a cutter and Claire called me a coward. But I should like to see how they would react if they lost their silly high school loves; no doubt they would think it the end of the world.

It is not fair. Why am I required to live on alone? No one begrudged Romeo and Juliet an end to their suffering and they had known each other for so little time. I have had Sam for so much longer; shouldn't I be allowed also to leave this world behind; this cruel dull world where everything reminds me of Sam.

Is it in my head or are the stars really fading? Is the colour really draining away from the world?

Life without Sam is colourless, dull, pointless. I am nothing without him and the world is nothing without him.

What is the point of my futile existence? What is the point to any existence? I struggle to find a meaning, a purpose in life. Back when I was a human, all those years ago, the answer would have come to me readily; the purpose of life was to be good. But Sam was good and he died.

Only the good die young…

I have lived for over a thousand years and yet the only years of my life that hold any meaning for me are the few precious months I spent with Sam.

Now I have nothing. And I don't know how I'm going to cope. He was everything and I never realised; even as I loved him wholly I didn't realise just how dependant I was on his continued existence and happiness and presence?

What can I do? There is no hope of escape from this nightmare I find myself in. What can I do, there is no way out, even death will bring me no nearer to Sam. He has surely gone to heaven whereas I am destined for hell. I can't change it, no matter how much I wish I could. I only pray that Sam, wherever he is, is happy; it is what he deserves. Perhaps without me destroying and corrupting and twisting everything that is good about him and his life, he will be.

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_Ugh. Just ugh. I have no other words._


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